Ilmatar and I disembarked the elevator, and two guards escorted us down a long, wide hallway. The walls were covered in dark red paneling that looked like a mixture of wood and mushrooms. The floor was more of the black and gold marble that I’d seen throughout the tower. The guards opened a set of double doors at the end of the hall, and we entered a massive room with a large oblong table surrounded by chairs.

A giant mural on the wall behind the table depicted one of the crusades, perhaps even the first, as a demonic horde charged toward an army clad in silver armor. The landscape appeared to depict the Valley of the Dead, a kind of no-man’s-land on the Void-touched edge of the Beastlands around Lycanta, a natural chokepoint that had been a key battleground during many of the crusades. The mural bore quite a resemblance to one of the illustrations in the Book itself. I wondered if they had been made by the same artist.

As I entered, twelve demons rose from their chairs around the table and saluted me, fists together as they bowed. One chair larger than the others stood at the far side of the table, and I thought I could safely assume that one was mine. On one side of my seat sat the hulking red demon that had questioned me on geography when I’d first awoken—General Shatterbone. To the other side of my chair sat a blue demon I didn’t recognize. He was tall and thin, with a large set of leathery wings and a single horn jutting from his forehead. He wore a similar uniform to everyone else, though far less decorated than mine. Now that I looked, no one had as many medals pinned to their chest as I did, not even Shatterbone, who had the most impressive-looking uniform. Which was funny, considering I hadn’t even done anything.

As I walked, I felt self-conscious of the chain between my horns, which jingled as I strode around the table, and the devoted salutes from my military officers, whose eyes seemed full of false hope and deluded admiration. I reminded myself that if they discovered who I was, none would hesitate to seek my death.

“My faithful,” I said to them, nodding at each one in turn until I finally reached my chair, which was large enough to feel like a throne, and sat down. Reading the Book of Grievances had given me more ideas of how to address my followers, as there were many occasions throughout the Book where Greg-Theryx gave ominous or encouraging words to them. As my eyes scanned their faces, I realized they were waiting to take their chairs. “Be seated. We have much to discuss. You have called for me in a difficult time, and your faith will be rewarded. The Void protect us all.”

“The Void protect us!” came a resounding reply from around the table.

From my left side, General Shatterbone replied a heartbeat later than the rest and at a quieter volume. I wondered if he was less devout than the others or slower to react, as if he wished to stand out from the rest.

“As it has been some time, you may begin by introducing yourselves. Your name, rank, and command.” I turned to Shatterbone. He was the only demon I had met who was the same height as me. While my own body was toned and athletic, his was a hulking mass of rippled muscle and fat. I realized a large battleaxe decorated with a skull on the handle was resting against his chair near his right hand, right between us. “General Shatterbone. You, I already know.”

“Yes, Dark Lord!” he said, so loud it almost became a shout. He folded his meaty hands on the table and squeezed them against each other, as if he was bursting with energy. “General Ignak Shatterbone, Commander of the First Legion. You reward us by your presence.”

Despite his size, I knew I needed to tread carefully. I could not allow myself to give any impression that I was intimidated by him, even if he could’ve bisected me with his axe quicker than I could’ve shit my pants. I nodded at him, then turned to the next demon.

“General Krez, Commander of Second Legion. It is a pleasure to serve, Dark Lord.” He was blue, and while still imposing, was nowhere near Shatterbone’s level of bulk or violent enthusiasm.

“General Braz, Commander of Third Legion.” This next guy was green, and I nodded at him, already bored of the introductions.

I appreciated the diversity among the top generals, hoping it would make them easier to remember. I couldn’t help but notice that both myself and Shatterbone were red, the color of blood. From what Mona had said, the stereotype was that red skin meant physical strength. Looking at Shatterbone, I could see why.

I nodded at each of the remaining commanders, filing their introductions in my mind but paying them little attention. All of them were subordinate to those first three, in any event.

At last, we came around the table to the person I was most curious about. He was thinner and less imposing physically than the others, but his eyes gazed at me with a dark, placid stare. In his own way, I found him more intimidating than anyone else around the table besides Shatterbone.

“Master, it is a pleasure to be allowed to serve. I am Captain Lucifron Darkstar, and I command our winged legion.” He gave a calm smile and bowed his head slightly forward.

From reading the Book, I understood this was a somewhat recent development. Flying as a full-sized demon required the mastery of complex magics which hadn’t been understood until the last few crusades.

Between the elevators, magical lights, and demonic air force, it made me wonder if we were in the equivalent of a magical industrial revolution. I felt a new urge to see the city of Dreadthorn, to travel beyond the tower and tour the homes, markets, and workshops. But I had no idea if it was even safe to be among the public. How would they react to someone they thought was a living god walking among them?

“Captain Darkstar,” I repeated. “I am eager to see the level our winged legion has risen to in my absence.” I tried to decide whether to add him to my list of silly names, though he had little to complain about compared to Majordomo Lampshade. While Lucifron’s name was over the top, at least it held a straightforward edgy appeal.

“I would be pleased to show you, my Lord. We have made many advances in both training and spellcraft since you were last on mortal soil.”

“As I expected.” I turned my head to look around the table. “I am satisfied by this gathering and your devotion. Tell me of the current situation so that I might divine what comes next for us.”

At this, Shatterbone stood in his chair and gestured towards the table’s smooth, polished surface. “Do the thing,” he said, gesturing with his hand as if admonishing the table itself.

A moment later, the winged demon Lucifron stood, held out his hand, closed his eyes, and chanted something under his breath. The surface of the table glowed, revealing a map of the world in white light. Some of the other Commanders began to take models from shelves under the table. They were in the shape of little soldiers, horses, and cannons. These pieces were painstakingly arranged on the map. They were ivory, the color of bone, and I wondered if that was indeed what they were made out of.

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I began to recognize figurines that looked like demons on the left side of the map, and more angelic figures on the right side. My eyes looked down to the far left end of the table, focusing on what I assumed must be Dreadthorn, located above the gateway to the Void itself. My eyes scanned to the right, seeing the armies of the divine realms. There was a large mass of them not too far from the center of the table, the so-called Fulcrum of the world—Lycanta, the city state of the beastkin.

At last, with the pieces arranged, Shatterbone began to hold forth. He listed similar troop numbers as Ilmatar, then described how Sun-Domia was rallying the so-called Army of Light, her force still assembling on the opposite side of the world from us. He didn’t mention any particular numbers for them, and his briefing sounded vague, almost evasive. However, I couldn’t help but notice more little statues in the Army of Light than on our side.

It was currently the end of the season of Gleaning, which would be followed by the season of Frost. Shatterbone explained that the Army of Light would likely not attack until the following season of Thaw—giving us time to prepare our forces before our own march.

That we would indeed need to march seemed assumed, unfortunately.

“We know that Sun-Domia has not yet joined with her army. She tours the lands which worship her, recruiting more to her cause.”

“And what of our diplomatic efforts?” I asked.

As soon as I’d asked, I could feel a wave of fear pass through the table. They didn’t betray much emotion, these soldiers, but they couldn’t hide from me completely. They either averted their eyes or looked to Shatterbone, as the tension mounted.

“Sun-Domia’s heralds have made it clear that any nation which stays neutral in the conflict will not be harmed,” Shatterbone said. “Any who rejoin the Pact, however, will be razed to ashes. Our envoys have been rebuffed by all of our former allies, except by Ophidium and Arachnia, who perhaps could be persuaded.”

Ophidium was partly underground and deep in the Voidlands, while Arachnia was covered in dense forest and separated from the divine realms by a small sea. The two nations were inhabited by snake and spider-folk, respectively, or at least that was the impression I’d gotten from the Book’s crude illustrations.

“Persuaded how?”

Shatterbone hesitated, and General Braz, the green Commander of the Third Legion, spoke up after a beat of silence. “Ophidium and Arachnia are at war with each other, Dark Lord. Support from one would come at the expense of the other.”

“At a time like this, our kin fight amongst themselves or hide as cowards,” I said. Well, that didn’t bode well for us. I couldn’t even blame the nations who were staying out of it. Why would they face ruin and devastation again?

But I knew there was one nation that was never neutral. They couldn’t afford to be. The nation closest to the Fulcrum, where both dark and divine energy intermingled, was home to races of beastfolk who shifted between man and animal depending on their emotions and their Will.

Due to its unfortunate location at the borderlands between the divine realms and the rest of us, it had been decimated by the vast majority of the crusades I’d read about. Perhaps for this reason, it changed allegiances now and then, and had been in both the Pact and the Alliance, doomed to conflict by geography.

“And what of Lycanta?” I asked.

Shatterbone glowered. “My Lord, I’m afraid those beasts have aligned themselves with Sun-Domia. The damned traitors have turned their backs on us. We sent an envoy months ago, entreating them to reconsider due to your imminent arrival. But we never heard back. I fear our messenger may have been captured.”

“They didn’t allow our envoy to return?”

“Indeed not, Lord.”

I glared towards the center of the map, at the knotted place in the wood illuminated with the runes for Lycanta, the city of Weres. They couldn’t merely ghost us, they had to stab us in the back too.

I thought about the Book, trying to recall each crusade in my mind. This must have been the worst starting position yet. Even if the Book was embellished to make the history seem more favorable, I couldn’t help but feel we were in particular trouble this time. And that wasn’t even accounting for the fact there were no gods in this room.

I wondered if this was the reason for the anxiousness of everyone seated around the table. No one seemed particularly happy, except perhaps Shatterbone, who, for all I knew, suffered from delusions of grandeur about the glorious war we were soon to embark upon. I realized all eyes were on me as I stared down at the map, my eyes focusing at last on the Valley of the Dead.

I turned to Shatterbone and narrowed my eyes. “Then what is your proposal?”

He smiled at me, his fangs gleaming for a moment. “I’m pleased you asked, my Lord. If the filthy Goddess of Light will not move until the snow melts, we must assemble our legions and march on the Valley of the Dead to reach it first, before the Goddess has a chance. It is the ideal place to battle. And if the Army of Light hesitates to meet us in the field, we march to Lycanta and begin our siege of the traitors’ city.”

I nodded. “Straight forward. I admire that, General. However, you have not mentioned the enemy’s numbers or your expectation of victory in the field.”

“Oh?” he asked. I wondered if perhaps he was feigning ignorance. Was he far smarter than he let on? He looked me in the eye for a moment, then began to recite: “The Grand Alliance has managed to field eighty thousand infantry, ten thousand cavalry, eight hundred magi, about two hundred paladins, and a few dozen catapults, so far. My Lord.”

Well, that settled it. We were undoubtedly dead. But I could hardly say that, so I tried to think of something inspiring. “We have overcome worse odds before,” I offered. “One trained demon is easily worth twenty men.”

Shatterbone nodded. “Thank you for saying so, Dark Lord. We have another advantage, one I haven’t yet mentioned. Something they could not possibly predict. Its likeness has never been seen before, and the Valley is the ideal place to use it.” I looked at him, wondering if I would soon learn the source of his irrational confidence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and I could feel another presence on this floor, outside the doorway. She had come from the elevator just moments earlier. She stood at the doors, waiting for her moment. I blinked my eyes open, wondering how I knew this, how I could sense these kinds of things. My third eye, if that’s what it was, had been opened upon my awakening. I could see magic, but could I see the magic within living beings as well? I only wished I understood how this ability worked.

The guards opened the doors, and a lithe green-skinned demoness walked in, her silver hair up in a bun. Her eyes gleamed behind a pair of crystalline glasses. She stopped as she approached the table, and fell to one knee before us. I realized she held something in her hands, a cloth bundle wrapped in twine. I recognized her from my awakening. She’d been sitting next to Shatterbone in the congregation, which I now realized was no coincidence.

“I didn’t realize priestesses were welcome in the Halls of War,” I told Shatterbone.

His eyes widened for a moment, but the new arrival spoke first. “Dark Lord,” she said, “I must beg your forgiveness. I am your faithful priestess, Phaedra Midnight, and I bring you something precious today, an offering for you. The promise of vengeance in your name and a path to victory.”

Phaedra. I remembered Mona mentioning her. They hadn’t sounded like friends. “As my priestess, I will trust that you would not have come before me, taking valuable time from this war briefing, if you did not have absolute confidence in your gift.” I was starting to get used to my new demeanor.

She smiled, looking pleased with herself, glancing up at me from the floor briefly before bowing low again, her forehead pressed against the black marble.

“You may rise,” I said grudgingly, and she rose to her feet. With the bundle in hand, she stepped forward and began to unwrap it.

It contained a glass orb the size of a crystal ball. Trapped within the orb’s milky surface, a cloudy substance glowed with a sinister, yellow light. It felt like the light was alive somehow, as if in that crackling glow, there lived a nightmare waiting to be born.

I imagined what would happen if she dropped the orb and it shattered on the marble floor, releasing whatever substance was inside. I shivered, despite myself, but her hands were steady. Phaedra looked at me expectantly, as if wondering what I thought.

“Well, what have you brought me, Priestess Midnight?”

“Death for your enemies, my Lord,” she said, and in her eyes there lay a cold satisfaction. “Death, and magnificent terror.”